


strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's always liked the way she can make him beg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart

The Doctor has learned over time how to land in her room without disturbing anything. Or at least, not much of anything. Materializing in and out of her life just like always.

He arranges himself on the chair that's in front of her dresser, moving his insectival limbs into some semblance of order. And even though he never sleeps and rarely gets tired, there is sometimes a weariness that creeps in around the edges - especially after an adventure like the one they've just had.

So it's easy to just put his arms around her when Clara sits on his lap. Easy to just follow her lead and let her show him how she wants to be kissed. Sliding her mouth against his, warm and wet. In between kisses, they talk about their travels. They do this sometimes. Debriefing.

Of course, there are other things that they do sometimes. Other things that the Doctor has learned about Clara by now. Kissing her sweet and gentle until she cuts it off and leaves him to go rooting through the toybox she keeps for occasions such as this. His hands on his thighs: grip/release, grip/release. Anticipating as Clara withdraws a length of rope just long enough for what she needs. There's an extra confidence in the swing of her hips when she strides back towards him. She seems taller all of a sudden.

The Doctor reaches out, expectant. Not so fast. She takes his hands, crossing his wrists over each other behind the chair before securing them in place. The rope holding him, keeping him controlled and submissive. Tight against his skin. Heightening his pulse.

The two of them had wandered through an exoplanet with rolling hills that recede into distant mountains where aliens even older than the Doctor used to walk. Bright moons overhead, a spotlight for their meanderings. The only thing that those beings left behind were rivers made of their tears, waves that cut through the earth and kept on flowing. Clara had stumbled and he'd grabbed her hand, preventing her from getting swept away by the current. Lost in the froth. He won't ever let her fall, and she won't let him fall, either. Pulling her to safety, pulling him to safety with every new knot.

Clara settles back onto his lap and instructs him to keep still, keep silent. She kisses him again and puts variety into it, knowing that he'll keep up with whatever she gives him. Opening up his mouth with hers, finding his tongue. Pulling away to catch at his lower lip and bite gently. Mentally praising him: _yes, you're doing so well_. Clara shifts her hips, pleased about what she's able to do to him. It gives her this full-body blush that makes her almost dizzy.

His breath comes in panting squeaks. Clara puts her hands in his hair to give him an admonishing tug, feeling his curls rapidly becoming sweat-slick. His little desperate gasps. "Shhh, Doctor. My Doctor," she says softly, repeating it to him until he quiets. His breath is slower now, measured, but she can still feel his heartbeats against hers - a giveaway for how worked up he still is.

As if idle, curious, Clara reaches down between them to squeeze at him through his trousers. So strong, intelligent. How nice to have it controlled. All that intelligence, all to herself. He moans her name, moans please, and she returns with "Not yet." So maybe she smiles to herself, too. (She's always liked the way she can make him beg.)

She kisses down to his neck, teasing that eventually builds to the shock of her teeth, needling at his skin. The Doctor tips his head back and groans. A rumble that Clara can feel in her very core. She sets her palm flat on his thigh, a small impact but enough of a reminder that he returns to his calm waiting. Clara grinds on him, gets him to almost. Tantalizing pressure. Every time he moves too much, seeking more, she hits him. Only a little, only enough.

Finally she slides off him, down to the floor. Clara takes her time undoing his trousers. A psychic request: _Exercise that wonderful self-control of yours for me_. This quickening sense of excitement that he belongs to her and she can take this if she wants.

Clara finds him standing up, sheath almost completely withdrawn, his cock exposed and oversensitive. He had been so afraid when they'd walked together today. Side by side on a narrow path in between the roar of water where all those streams had dug themselves into the earth. He is afraid. Someone as small as Clara could get lost so easily. So there's a certain measure of reassurance, then, that all he has to do here is stay and Clara will be right here taking care of him.

He always get so wet, so responsive. Little moans that sputter out, choked in his throat. Incoherent psychic flickers: _Clara, inside, please_. "You gave me so much today," Clara says, stroking him thoughtfully. "How much more can you give me?" She uses her fingers to probe at him and he quivers, leaking over her grip. Satisfied, Clara takes him in, wet and drippy, almost tugging as she feeds more of him into her mouth. He breathes out in rapid bursts as he lifts himself off the chair. Clara digs her nails into his thigh, both marking and comforting him.

They're finding their own path now. Clara sucks at him gently. The taste of bitter salty-sweet tang. Salt. The way the air had tasted back then, soured from the tears of aliens gone before. Years of emotion surging past them in the current. Clara hears her name. In her mind, not in her mind, she's not quite sure. Either way she's compelled to pull off and look up at him. His eyes are blue, so very blue. Another memory, then, of the last river they had wandered by. The water brilliantly clear, mesmerizing - leaning in, the path giving way, the Doctor holding onto her at just the last moment. Rocks clattering into the waves below. It could have been her instead.

Clara continues, then. A protective hand at the base of his cock, her tongue along its underside. It's her gratitude she's giving him. That he trusts her so completely like this. That he'll save her, over and over again.

He asks her permission to speak and she tells him yes because she wants to hear it, wants to know exactly how she's making him feel. It's her name again, hovering in her mind. Except now it has become a long, drawn-out word that rises, transforms into a shuddering and repeated thing of beauty as he comes inside her mouth.

Clara swallows, accepting him exactly as he is.


End file.
